Page 17 of The Good Girl Effect (Salacious Legacy #1)

Jack

T his was a mistake. I never should have brought her up here.

I’m corrupting this sweet, innocent woman, and for what? My own sick, twisted pleasure? Because I’ve been dying to see her in knots since she showed up at my house a few weeks ago? Because everything she does drives me out of my mind? Because everything about her reminds me of Em.

But Em wouldn’t have done this. Em was never as curious or interested in this lifestyle, regardless of my job. All this—the room, the wardrobe, the obsession with bondage—was just part of my ever-growing and unhealthy coping mechanism since her death.

So maybe if I tarnish and corrupt and defile Camille, she’ll no longer appear to me like a ghost of the woman I married.

Fuck, what is wrong with me?

Just another dark path this grief wants to lead me down.

But I meant what I said. If I could just keep my restraint, then she would be the perfect person for me to practice on.

She is curious for more as much as I crave this outlet.

What I should have seen coming is just how much more I want with her.

Now, she’s on her knees, bound and beautiful, and I said I would hold back, but God , I don’t want to. I’d like to show her exactly what it’s like to submit. I’d like to make her body mine.

But as tantalizing as it sounds, I also know how incredibly unfulfilling it is. It’s like chasing a high I’ll never find.

“Nod if you’re still comfortable,” I say as I release her hand and take a step back.

She nods, but I notice the way she reaches for me, wanting me back within her grasp.

For some reason, I give her what she wants, stepping back toward her so she can feel my presence.

I never let the sub have control. What is wrong with me?

Reaching down, I softly pet her hair. She leans into the touch, soaking up my attention.

I can’t help it, but I find myself saying the things I absolutely should not say. “Do you know all the filthy things I could do to you at this angle?”

She lets out a breath as she nods.

“Stand up,” I command, swallowing the temptation to do all those things. Taking her by the wrists, I help her to her feet. With the extra rope from her binds in my hands, I hook them over the suspension loop hanging from the ceiling.

Then I tug on the rope, and she lets out a squeaking sound as her body extends, leaving her on her tiptoes.

I quickly tie the rope with a quick-release knot so she’s locked in place, barely able to stand.

Immediately, she starts to sway, her head hanging back.

From this angle, I can see the pulse in her neck, rapidly beating under her tender flesh.

Her breasts look exquisite in this position—petite, tan circles peeking through the sheer fabric of her bra. I can’t help myself as I reach out and draw my fingers along the ridges of her rib cage and up to the small mounds of her breasts.

She lets out another sound like a whimper. So I pinch the small bud between my fingers. What the fuck am I doing?

“Would you like me to stop?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

Good girl , I think. I won’t say it out loud. I don’t want her to think she’s being praised for enduring something. It would only encourage her to lie for my benefit.

Bringing my body flush with hers, I continue to play with her small tits just to see the way her breathing changes as I do.

God, what a weak man I am. It’s only the first session, and already I’m losing my control.

I was so full of shit when I told her it wouldn’t be about sex. That’s all I can think about.

She’s trying to keep her pleasure sounds in. Maybe she thinks I don’t want to hear those the same way I don’t want to hear her voice. I like the idea of her obeying me so intently.

“Do you like it so far?” I ask with my face near hers. “Being tied up and teased?”

She nods only a little, unable to move her head and neck as much with her arms pressed up around her ears. She does, however, let out a small sound again as I pinch the sensitive bud.

I can’t get over how beautiful she looks like this. Most people are uncomfortable their first time. They fight against the ropes or struggle to find a comfortable position, but Camille seems to melt into this bondage like she was made for it. Like she was just waiting for me to show her.

“Is this what you wanted me to show you?” I ask, trailing my fingers down from her chest and around to her back.

She nods.

“There are so many more things to try. More positions, more knots, more…opportunities. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” she cries out on a whimper. “Please.”

With that, I spin her around so that her back is pressed to my chest. The chains above her rattle as she struggles to regain her balance.

My cock aches as I press it against her ass. I’m going to hell for this.

Her head falls backward so she’s resting it on my shoulder. She’s struggling to keep the sounds in now. Little whimpers and whines of desire escape her lips. And they only get worse when my greedy hands take their fill, roaming her body.

What I wouldn’t give to slide down these panties and fill her up. I’d like to see her try to stay quiet then.

No matter how hard I try to restrain myself from rubbing my stiff length against her, I can’t seem to stop. It feels too good. She is too perfect.

She cries out with need, and it only urges me on. So much for restraint. That’s long gone now. We have slipped past the edge of control, and we’re both giving in to base needs here. I’m grinding against her as she writhes against me, hungry for more.

Then she mumbles something incoherent to herself in French, and it’s like having someone snap me out of a daze.

What the fuck am I doing? This is my daughter’s nanny.

I’m a fucking monster.

My hands release her body, and I take a step back, forcing deep breaths into my lungs.

I’m supposed to be the one in control here, and she has me falling to pieces.

“That’s enough,” I snap.

She lets out a gasp, turning her head to find me, although she can hardly move with her arms still stretched toward the ceiling.

“What? No. Don’t stop,” she pleads.

“We’re getting carried away,” I say as I pull the rope loose from the ceiling, and Camille nearly tumbles to the floor.

“Wait,” she whispers, quickly catching herself and closing her lips.

“You wanted to know what it feels like, so I’ve shown you.”

I work to undo the bind on her wrists, but she’s shaking her head emphatically. “Show me more, Jack. Please. You know you want to.”

My head snaps up, and I stare at her. “That’s exactly the problem. I never should have touched you like that. I was supposed to show restraint. You are my employee, my daughter’s caretaker. I have to think about her, and I lost control, but I have it back now.”

Once her wrists are free, she immediately reaches for me. But I grab them before she can put her hands on me. It’s taking everything in me to hold back when all I want to do is let go.

I inspect her hands and wrists for any swelling or bruising, but other than some basic rope marks, she appears fine.

When I look into her eyes again, I remember why I wanted the blindfold on her in the first place. There is an intensity in Camille’s gaze that always stops me in my tracks.

It’s like she can see into my soul. It makes it so much harder to hide from her. She looks at me like she knows me.

I’ve never found that with anyone.

Quickly, I look away.

“There are plenty of people at the club who could show you more, but it won’t be?—”

To my utter shock, Camille lunges forward and places her hand over my mouth like I have done to her so many times before. My eyes widen as I stare down at her in surprise. Even she looks surprised by her own audacity.

“Please stop saying that,” she mumbles. “I don’t want anyone else to show me, and I don’t think you do either.”

After a moment, she eases her hand away from my mouth and steps back. Looking down at the floor, she presses her lips together, and I can’t even find it in me to argue with her because she’s right. I hate the idea of someone else touching her.

At this point, I should lead her through some aftercare, but we didn’t go very deep into the scene, so I think it’s safe to assume she’s okay. With nothing left to say or do, we stand in awkward silence, not looking at each other or speaking.

I decide to be the one to leave first.

“That’s enough for tonight,” I mumble. Turning my back on her, I walk to the door before adding, “Good night, Camille.”

Just as I disappear into my room on the other side of the hallway, I hear her softly reply, “Good night, Jack.”

The moment I’m alone, I run my hands through my hair and question where the hell my sanity has gone. I hear Camille’s footsteps down the hall and then the stairs. Once I know she’s gone, I collapse onto my bed and put my face in my hands.

There’s a photo of my wife watching from the nightstand, and her stare feels like daggers of grief and regret. I don’t know how others are able to move on after the loss of their spouse, but I never will. I can’t let Em go. I will never let her go.

Tonight was just a game. Another meaningless moment with a stranger that scratches an itch and fills some superficial hole inside me. From the moment Em died, I’ve buried myself in the bodies of others like some sort of sick penance because I’d rather feel this than soul-crushing grief.

But tonight didn’t feel like the others. Something about Camille was different.

Maybe it’s because she’s my employee, and I wouldn’t let myself fuck her.

Maybe it’s because she’s the first French woman I’ve been with since Em.

But either way, it doesn’t matter because it’s never happening again. There is only one objective on my mind. Finish the year at the club, hand it over to Julian, and leave this country forever.

Only then will Bea and I be truly free.

I can’t let myself get sidetracked and distracted by a beautiful, curious woman who seem to set my soul on fire without even meaning to.